Sick
by Spammi
Summary: Kimbley's sick and Archer takes it upon himself to take of care of him. Rated for language. Please r


_ACHOO!_ A violent sneeze led into a hacking cough and the Crimson Alchemist rolled over in his bed, feeling like he was about to cough up a lung. Half asleep, he was barely aware of a dip in the bed next to him and the hand rubbing soothing circles on his back until he had finished. He felt something pressing against his dry lips and greedily gulped down the cool water, sputtering slightly. A sudden wave of exhaustion and he collapsed back on the bed, falling back into a deep sleep instantly.

&&&

Several hours later and he awoke again, this time due to the fact that he was being securely tucked in with a stifling duvet. Too hot…it was too hot…he swung his arms out against whoever was trying to turn him into a mummy.

"You're shivering!" The voice sounded faint; he could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears. He kicked out, shoving the carefully tucked in duvet to the end of the bed.

"Tuh-'ot" He mumbled, wriggling around until he could escape the confines of his pyjama shirt. He coughed feebly and curled up into a ball, the last thing he heard before falling back into a restless sleep was a weary sigh as a thin blanket was laid over him.

&&&

A cool hand rested on his forehead and he unconsciously leant into the touch. It was removed, then something heavier and warmer replaced it. He let out a pitiful whine and cracked his eyes open to see what was happening. He groaned when the bright light stung his sensitive eyes, but was able to squint into the room when the curtains were hurriedly drawn. The dip in the bed returned and he stared blearily at the blurry blue shape in front of him.

"How are you feeling?" He recognised that voice. Kimbley shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear his vision, then cursed when all it succeeded in doing was making him dizzy.

"Careful, you'll only feel worse if you do that. You've got flu," Kimbley frowned, trying to work out why Colonel Archer was with him, informing him that he had the flu. "I need to take your temperature, open up."

Again, something was pressed against his lips and Kimbley jerked back, turning his face away from the thermometer.

"Kimbley, don't be stupid, I need to take your temperature." Hands batted at him to try and get him to lay still but he pushed them away.

"Fuck off," he managed to growl as he pushed himself into a sitting position on the opposite side of the bed to Archer. He closed his eyes as the simple movement made his head pound and he swayed lightly. "I don't need your help," His voice was raw and scratchy and it hurt to talk.

"I have some hot lemon for your throat," Archer offered. He began to lean across the bed to hand the other man said drink, but was stopped by two hands held palm forward.

"Come near me and I'll fucking explode you!" Kimbley croaked, the threat ruined somewhat by a violent coughing fit. He doubled over, one hand on his ribs and the other in front of his mouth. Immediately Archer was by his side on the bed, rubbing his back. Kimbley took a few shuddering breaths and half heartedly shoved Archer's hand away. "Leave me alone," he said weakly, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Archer rolled his eyes and quickly popped the thermometer into Kimbley's mouth. Kimbley sputtered a bit and began to fight against Archer, but his body was exhausted and Archer quickly overpowered him, straddling him and pinning him to the bed. He turned his face to the side but Archer grasped his chin and pulled it back before holding his wrist against the mattress again.

"Spit that out and you don't wanna know where I'll stick it," He threatened. Kimbley glared daggers at him and struggled to lift his arms, desperately trying to get his hands on the other man to keep to his previous promise. His hard stare unnerved Archer, and he avoided the alchemist's eyes as he counted two minutes in his head. He removed the thermometer and sat up, whistling slightly as he took the reading.

"Whoa…that's a helluva high temperature…I think it's best that you stay in bed and rest for a few days."

"I'm _fine_!" Kimbley protested, then sneezed.

"Uh-huh, sure you are." Archer replied in a disbelieving tone as he climbed off the bed and threw the box of tissues at the sniffling man. "I'll go make some soup."

Kimbley sneered at his retreating back, then growled in frustration when he was hit with another sneezing fit; he did not need to be babied!

_Finis_


End file.
